


This fellow doth not cast out devils

by Nobodystormcrow



Series: Schadenfreude [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: All the canon arcs are out of order, BAMF Miura Haru, BAMF Sasagawa Kyouko, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Debts and the Mafia, Fix-It, Flame Lore (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Hell Rings, M/M, Proxy Lightning Guardian Miura Haru, SI/OC, Sawada Iemitsu is not one hundred percent a dick, Sawada Iemitsu's B- Parenting, Storm Mochida Kensuke, Worldbuilding, sentient paperwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28573560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobodystormcrow/pseuds/Nobodystormcrow
Summary: ...but by Beelzebub the prince of the devils.Having his character development catalyzed by his antichrist of an apprentice may have resulted in Sawada Iemitsu resolving quite a few problems before they could plague his son, but there is a price to everything, even proactivity, and the hidden powers of the world are now pushing back against change.The one now called Basil was the one who set things in motion, and with old enemies and new emerging, it falls to the CEDEF heir to put them to rest before the Vongola Heir is threatened. Fortunately, this needs not be a task for one, and Mukuro, too, is born of the underworld.The interlude betweenWith all due respect, sir (meaning noneandYour Will be done, young master (though this one must protest), wherein a tale of Hell Rings, justice and vengeance and momentous undertaking is told, Nagi becomes Chrome,  and a Prince is rescued by a Page.
Relationships: Basil & Sawada Iemitsu, Basil & Sawada Tsunayoshi, Basil/Belphegor (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Reborn & Sawada Tsunayoshi, Sawada Tsunayoshi & Vongola Tenth Generation Guardians
Series: Schadenfreude [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470281
Comments: 38
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

I quickly blinked away my wide-eyed stare, “Of course, sir! This one shall see to it immediately.”

I had received some ridiculous missions in my apprenticeship, from that month in antarctica to crossing all the traffic light signals in Paris or that time when we stole Christmas from all the antimafia taskforces on sir’s whim, but this took the cake.

How was I supposed to deliver a _dolphin_ to Reborn within the day, healthy and hyperactive and ready to encourage the Young Master to swim? There was also a caveat that the dolphin in question make the Young Master fear for his life, but Iruka was a prime example of sociopathy, so that was significantly less of a problem.

“Good boy!” My boss ruffled my hair, “We have lots to do right now! Salt is fizzing and needs recharging, plus Verde wants to experiment on Moretti, so we need to tell him no and also talk to him about the assassins he sent, plus Colonello wants us to pay for Mafia Land repairs but Oregano says we don’t have the money—but that’s not your job!”

He suddenly turned serious, “A new Famiglia has just popped up and they have shown a worrying knack for knowing the right things and getting into the wrong places, and more than that, Mukuro has confirmed that they are weaponizing Harmonization. A certain ‘M.M.’ barely escaped. I need you to take him and whoever can be held over him to Japan, we can’t afford to lose him.”

“Yes, sir.” That would be four extra passengers: Mukuro, Ken, Chikusa, and M.M., although Mukuro refused to admit that he cared for her and she was technically an informant, not a member of the Vongola. “Discretionary funds will be required to hire M.M. from her family.”

“Haha, you’re a big boy, Basil! If it’s less than five thousand euros, you don’t need to ask! —you know what? Just sign out five thousand euros, and get yourself a treat with the change, your shishou won’t tell!”

And my boss strolled off, whistling.

Right. Sir was perfectly aware of my spending habits, which meant that the money was not for dresses, given the amount. Instead… the point of cash was that it was untraceable, and that either meant the I was supposed to get Mukuro to go to ground, or use it for semi-illegitimate purposes.

The seven years and a day countdown ticked in my head. I needed to find Checkerface before this month was over, and when I bore a Hell Ring the dominion of which was the improbable, that would mean stumbling across him by chance. The sixth sense that I had developed promised that he was in Japan, so I would need to wander the nation, beginning with Namimori.

The funds would be for me then.

Time to figure out Iruka.

* * *

I found my little brother shamelessly taking advantage of a sobbing woman, enjoying chin scritches in between coaxing her into feeding him sardines. Really, I didn’t know where I went wrong with him.

I sighed and waited for Borage to feel better. She had been crying at the CEDEF emotional support dolphin pool for a week now after her breakup, and all Turmeric had said on the matter was that it took time. I found the whole affair rather boring, to tell the truth—her girlfriend hadn’t even been a police informant, let alone a spy, and neither had been trying to seduce anything out of the other. Bianchi disagreed, but then, she’s always held a soft spot for lurid romances.

Finally, Borage gave the dolphin a final scratch, got up, and left without noticing me (as was typical).

I set down my binder, then dove into the pool.

“[Elder-sibling-playmate] _!_ ” Iruka trilled, “How are you? Do you have squid? What have you been doing with your hands? I’m bored! Play with me!”

“Very well, thank you, Iruka.” I conjured up a Mist-Squid, “You didn’t seem bored when you were wheedling treats from poor Borage.”

He snatched it up in an instant, splashing me in the face with a flip of his flukes, “Unfair! You have _fingers_! That’s far more interesting than snacks—even if snacks are very interesting too! I want to go on more assassination missions!”

Did I mention that Iruka was a bit of a sociopath? To be fair, he was a dolphin, so he wasn’t killing his own kind, but still, he had an unhealthy predilection for murder.

“There are only so many people who can be killed near water.” I spluttered once I came up again, “But you’re right, we do have an opportunity for fun.”

“Oooh! Do tell!”

I grinned, “How do you feel about scaring my Young Master?”

“That’s going to be interesting! But what do you mean about scaring him? Do I get to bite? Impersonate an orca? Follow him onto land?”

“That will depend on [Nightmare-blue-ringed-octopus].” I said, meaning Reborn, “But first, we’ll have to find a way to get you to Namimori.”

“Not the harness!” He complained, “I _hate_ gravity.”

“We can’t use the harness this time—”

Iruka let out a gleeful sound and leapt into the air.

“—since we don’t have private transport available to us.” I flopped onto my back, “In fact, I don’t know how we’re supposed to go there.”

“That’s simple!” Iruka clicked, “[Sea-taste-breathless] has been showing me how to fix that!”

“How?” I asked warily, because Daemon, despite (or due to) Oregano’s best efforts, did not have the soundest of judgements, and while I did appreciate what he taught me involving poking about in people’s heads, turning into eldritch abominations after consuming inordinate amounts of power (significantly greater than the head-size limit suggested by certain reputable sources) was _not_ a reasonable way to go about things.

“Like this!”

This time, when Iruka leapt up, he stayed aloft, swimming in the air as if it was water and trailing golden Flame from his flukes. “See?” He whistled, “I don’t need all those stupid things anymore! I can move as well as any landlubber!”

On one hand, that did solve the logistics of the issue, but on the other hand, hiding a flying dolphin from curious eyes was going to be difficult.

Well, it was lucky that I wasn’t going to be the only Mist on the trip.

* * *

“Every time I meet you, I get more work.” Mukuro complained, “I’m beginning to regret my decision to wait and see with my plans—I should be the one giving you work, not the other way around.”

“Confirmation bias, Goodman Mukuro, is beneath thee. Thou shalt find the opportunity to purchase more overpriced chocolate at the airport using the Vongola’s money.” I paused, tapping my chin, “It must be shared with M.M., however.”

Mukuro shot up straight in his seat, “ _That harpy_?”

“This one can hardly be the judge of that.” I belied the statement by poking at the muffled presence in my head pointedly. Mukuro could at least have the decency not to pretend at an absence of attachment when the contract that stood between us gave me a direct line into his head (when we were feeling like invading each other’s privacy and inviting retaliation, that was).

“She is an irritating, gold-digging, self-important _devil_ of a woman!”

“Thou sayest not that thou carest not.” I nobly resisted rolling my eyes.

“Don’t you dare.” Mukuro growled.

I crossed my arms, “A ‘thank you’ would have been appreciated.”

However, because we owed each other some degree of courtesy, I didn’t actually say that M.M. could be used against him. That would have been a declaration of hostility, and for all that we tried to make each other miserable, we weren’t enemies. Even if _one_ of us kept trying my patience.

“My _dear_ Basilicum, I imagine that my brave and graceful endurance of the squalling babes and loathsomely narrow seats of Economy Class shall be thanks enough.” Mukuro had only refined his sense of melodrama as he aged, and it had not been helped by prolonged contact with Salt.

“Upon thee this one has a greater burden lain.” I reminded him.

“Ten hours of concealing a _flying marine mammal_?” He asked, disgusted.

“Assisting this one in doing so.” I corrected, “Thy help shall be appreciated, but this one will most likely not have it on this one’s return, after all.”

He caught that, leaning forward and focusing on my face, “You intend to leave me there, don’t you?”

I answered affirmative, “The threat the Tranello pose is too great to risk thee, no matter how much this one may find it poetically just.”

“But why not England? Or Germany? Or those bleak Siberian Steppes?” He asked, conjuring up images of the Globe theater, Oma’s gingerbread cottage, and a chicken-legged hut that was far too fat from nibbling on confectionary, “Why _Japan_ , of all places?”

In the course of the last seven years, we had worked out slightly more reasonable reaction to his grudge against the Mafia, and I had managed to extract from him the promise to give the Young Master a chance and see if his goals were worth following—for a price, of course, but for all his talk all Mukuro had done was attempt to leverage it to get me to do his work for him—and my expression, as well as what feedback he got from our closed connection was enough for him to recognize that it was finally time.

He let out a laugh as he realized, “Bringing both me and your murder dolphin called dolphin with you and all the bad luck that follows you around to where he lives? That boy’s going to hate you, CEDEF!”

“’tis commendable that thou dost realize that thou art an owner of not one good quality and an enemy of all good people.” I shot back acridly, “This one is full certain that with thine efforts, this one shall be but half as resented as thee. We shall embark on the morrow—brace thyself for thy loss of the affections of the elderly—they shall read the signs of thy delinquency and stay well away from thee.”

Mukuro sneered, “Brace _yourself_ , M.M.’s going to sit next to you.”

 _211_. My Ring chimed cheerfully in confirmation.

The things I did for the Sawadas’ sakes.


	2. Chapter 2

After stumbling through customs with ringing ears from M.M.’s six-hour-long dissertation on the varying fabrics, designs, stitching, and symbolism of kimonos (even I didn’t know that much and I had grown up with it once), I shoved Mukuro and his entourage vaguely in the direction of the five star (mafia-funded) hotel that was inexplicably present in the small town, checked to make sure they had too much money to excuse using illusory Yen, and collapsed onto the lovely, invigorating, Sunny form of my dolphin brother.

“[Elder-brother-sibling]?” He clicked in concern.

“Thank you, little brother.” I scratched his chin, “This one believes that it is time now to meet Reborn.”

My Ring, however, seemed to have other ideas. _209_.

The count was warning enough for me to stay still as a predator’s gaze was suddenly inches away from my nose.

“Ayakashi.”

“Scion of the Hibari.” I acknowledged politely, selecting an only mildly archaic form of keigo.

“There are Herbivores stampeding about in my territory.” He growled, “And you sent them.”

“That this one did not.” I protested, keeping a restraining hand on Iruka’s dorsal fin to keep the dolphin from attacking Hibari in a fit of protectiveness.

“You did. The ranking boy, the cow, and the bomber.” He glared, “And you just brought more.”

How did he—right, Namimori was at least loosely under the control of the Hibari, I should be more surprised if he didn’t know. I couldn’t argue about Mukuro, but a touch of malice had me thinking about how to turn this to my advantage.

“They are interesting.” I suggested lightly, “Particularly the one called with the pineapple hair.”

He turned his head away, but the sudden tension in his limbs belied his indifference.

Iruka would not stand for that. He tore free from my grasp and attempted to ram Hibari in the stomach with his snout, letting loose a furious tirade of squeaks and whistles, _“Don_ _’t you dare ignore [Elder-sibling-playmate], you stupid landlubber seagull! [Elder-sibling-playmate] is the best and never lies and you are a birdbrain if you think otherwise!_ _”_

Worry flashed across my mind as Hibari moved to defend from the assault, but he didn’t move onto the offensive. Instead, while deftly dodging and deflecting Iruka’s attacks, he remained scrupulously careful not to hurt him.

“I mean you no harm.” He said steadily, as Iruka shot past him, reorientated, and went for his fragile organs again. Dolphin-grade sonar was terrifying.

_“I don_ _’t care you limp-legged sandworm because I definitely mean you harm. I_ _’m going to throw you like a pufferfish then turn your innards to mush and feast on your squishy eyeballs_ _—”_

“This one believes that he is angry at thy disbelief.” I interrupted politely, “As he is rather overprotective of this one’s honor.”

“Explain.”

“Iruka is not as familiar as one may hope with the nuances of human interaction, and so… he has taken offense at thy reaction to this one’s statement involving Mukuro.”

“Hn.” Hibari jumped into the air as Iruka hurtled under him, then landed and focused on my adoptive little brother, “I apologize, dolphin. I will investigate the trespassers.”

Sun Flames sparked about his flukes.

I reached out with a touch of calming Rain. “Iruka, please.”

 _“Fine._ _”_ The dolphin relented, _“I still don_ _’t like you._ _”_

Hibari watched our exchange with ill-concealed fascination, offering a conciliatory hand to the admittedly adorable cetacean. Iruka ignored him.

Thus, thoroughly disappointed, he turned back to me, “Ayakashi, why are you here?”

I gestured at the still thoroughly incensed dolphin, “Iruka was requested hence by Reborn-san—this one merely accompanied him, and would like to wander about some until it is time to return.”

“I see. Have you arranged lodgings?”

Given that it was a horrendous hassle to get a hotel room when one was fourteen, I frowned and answered, “This one finds the trees quite pleasant at this time of year.”

Hibari crossed his arms, “The trees are Namimori property, not accommodations.”

“Then this one asks for thy solution.”

The Cloud answered by pulling me up by the elbow and striding to the north, dragging me along with him. “The Hibari Estate has the room for guests.”

Given the way his eyes had flicked towards Iruka, I could guess his real motivation—not that I was complaining, what with how I had acquired food and shelter, a babysitter for my little brother once Reborn was finished with him, and, as the cherry on top, a bit of misfortune for Mukuro. Why, things were going so smoothly that I was beginning to get worried.

* * *

Naturally, given that my bad luck was supernatural, it did not disappoint. Hibari dropped Iruka and I off at the pool where Reborn was waiting and then left to source pufferfish to bribe the sociopathic dolphin with, abandoning us to the non-existent mercies of the most chaotic being in the world (per Fuuta’s rankings).

Iruka received his instructions to terrorize the Young Master with delight, brushing off the threat of injury with the particular fecklessness of little brothers with self-healing capabilities (see also: Utakata, Kabuto), then swam off to scope out the terrain.

Reborn waited patiently while I satisfied myself that Iruka wasn’t getting into too much trouble, changing out of his bush disguise into something unidentifiable at the present.

There was no point in dawdling. Lowering myself to sit tatehiza, I broke the silence, “This one was not sent for merely as an escort, that this one presumes.”

“No, you weren’t.” Reborn answered, mildly approving, “Tsuna has another subordinate. I need you take care of him.”

“Another Guardian, or non-bonded? And, this one inquires, why is he ineligible for training by you, Reborn-san?” I asked, running through the list of candidates, but given that Reborn’s reports had been quite sparse, and the potential of Mukuro in my head meaning that that I was not inclined to dig deeper, I was woefully uninformed about the Young Master’s current conditions.

Reborn pursed his lips, “The boy is Tsuna’s by Mafia Law—losers serve the winners.”

That made sense. While some bonds formed first between opponents, that wasn’t always the case. “And it would be of particular detriment to the Young Master to be trained alongside this boy? That this one understands, but surely there are others to which this duty would fall, not this one, who must stand apart and external?”

He produced a file from whatever dimension he stored his costumes in. “The boy is a civilian, named Mochida Kensuke. All the relevant information is inside. Go through it, and we’ll talk after my useless student’s lesson.”

I understood the postponement for what it was: a chance to observe the Tenth Generation’s dynamics and form my own opinion (and compose a properly fleshed out report for my shishou), without having to insert myself into their dynamics.

On the other hand, couldn’t he just be straightforward and tell me?

I hoisted myself up into a tree—oh, so _that_ was what Reborn’s disguise was. Poor Young Master, but at least he wasn’t being forced to learn evasive motorcycle driving with Chaos Shots at his back.

Yet.

* * *

The most surprising thing about Mochida Kensuke was what his home life _lacked_. No absent parents, abusive relatives, traumatic childhood experiences etcetera—nothing more drastic than a mundane failure to instill a decent set of values into a teenage boy.

And yet he had Potential.

At least I could see why Reborn had offloaded the task to me: teaching teenagers to unlearn their worldviews took a skillset most often found in intelligence operatives and certain kinds of Mists, and doing so without resorting to brainwashing required patience, which, sadly, I had in abundance.

Ugh. Why?

I looked out to see how the Young Master was faring.

Yamamoto-dono was attempting to teach the Young Master through charades, an unsuccessful endeavor, since the instincts of the former weren’t quite transmissible. He was correct about not thinking too much though, and I really rather appreciated his encouraging cheer, so long as it wasn’t directed exclusively at me. I still wouldn't be alone with his father, though.

And now came Haru-dono, who had the right of it with how to help Tsuna-dono, perceptive and supportive individual that she was, although…

Hidden in the foliage, I frowned. Was Haru-dono still kept in the drum regarding Flames and the cosa nostra? What was Reborn doing?

Bianchi had expressed severe disapproval towards the Arcobaleno’s blind spot regarding women in combat, which had somehow survived his acquaintance with Lal, and led him to discard an excellent recruit for this sorry excuse for a bully.

I looked at the file, where the thoroughly uninteresting life of Mochida Kensuke was detailed in thoroughly uniteresting sentences, then back at the bright, confident, _kind_ girl in the pool. How could I trade away such a lovely potential colleague for _that_? No, I was getting ahead of myself, Haru-dono might not wish to fight, and I should not force her—but still…

I heaved a sigh. Bianchi had mentioned that she was mentoring Kyoko-dono in secret, against Sasagawa the elder’s wishes, so Haru-dono could have already refused the opportunity, but it could not hurt to ask— _after_ the whole Checkerface and the Vindice business was over, I had too much on my plate at the present to train another.

Unless I simply cleared my desk somewhat? Surely the Young Master would not object if I did away with this boy, given his offenses against not only the Young Master, but Kyoko-dono too. Honestly, I was surprised Mochida Kensuke had survived mostly unscathed even without my attention when his victims were surrounded by fierce friends perfectly willing to seek justice on their behalf, was it not for the fact that they had genuinely moved past this petty annoyance. If they hadn’t, I was certain that Hayato, for one, would have gladly enacted some form of retribution once informed.

A smile crept across my face at the thought of Bianchi’s little brother’s reaction, imagination painting a scene so vivid that I could almost hear his cry of _Jyuudaime_!

Wait.

That wasn’t my imagination. Hayato was rushing to the Young Master’s assistance with his title the battlecry on his lips.

* * *

Oh no. And where had he gotten that swimming apparatus? That was _another_ reason to audit the Bovino, after them making the CEDEF act as _child services_ , of all things.

“Hark,” A thrush alit on my shoulder, “Are they not so fair and full of flesh, young as we never were?”

“Mukuro.” I acknowledged, “Here to watch as well?”

The thrush tilted his head, gazing at me through its red right eye. “Of course. How else am I supposed to see what stuff Sawada Tsunayoshi is made of, dear Basilicum?”

Bombs were going off below us. Ouch, poor Iruka.

_Mwahahaha! Run mola-mola! I_ _’m going to throw you like a frisbee and turn your guts to pulp!_

On second thought, he was bringing it on himself.

“Thine opinion so far?”

“He’s… adorably harmless.” Mukuro jumped onto a close branch and pecked at the bark in a terrible show of indifference, “I can’t imagine anyone more different from you, you scheming sociopath—what do you have there?”

I let him look. “This one has been told to train this particular individual—unless thou wouldst take on the task?”

Mukuro gave up all dignity in a bout of squawking laughter, “Don’t they want the boy back?”

“In a functional state, even.” I agreed drily.

“Then don’t push him off on me. We may be equally skilled in mind games, and you might look no more kindly upon bullies than I, but I do not have the restraint to withhold justice.”

That was perhaps an indication of a mild sense of fondness for the Young Master, or simply Mukuro’s vicious sense of righteousness, and either way, Mochida Kensuke would be broken into whimpering pieces before the hell-treader was done with him.

My Ring whispered into my mind, not the countdown, but rather a sense of…anticipation.

BOOM!

An explosion rattled our tree. Whatever philosophical musings were thrust aside as I barely restrained myself from swearing and looked around for the cause.

“Bovino hand grenades.” I hissed, conjuring binoculars to examine Iruka for injuries, “This one has reached the end of one’s tolerance for those froward and unable worms.”

“Such boasts.” The orange-beaked bird drawled, “I’d almost be excited if I didn’t know you were simply going to audit them, instead of murdering them all as I have repeatedly advised.”

I snorted. “Beseeching thee, this one begs, offer not this one such temptation.”

“Well then, there’s nothing more to see here, so I’m off—and before you ask, I haven’t made a decision yet regarding Sawada Tsunayoshi. Eat the bird if you like, I’m pretty sure you won’t get anything nasty from it.”

“Takest thou this one for a cat?” I asked, scandalized.

“No, but I expect you to have picked up some bad habits from your boyfriend.”

“Begone, foul demon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine, if you will, if Mukuro had had his way. A nice, preemptive massacre would have prevented the whole Byakuran mess, if not the Trinisette situation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I take artistic license with dolphin biology and senses of taste/smell, Kawahira manages to avoid appearing on screen while his wife entertains a lovely surprise guest, and Mochida finds himself in a horror movie. In other words, Basil is a professional spy and therefore switches personalities at the drop of a hat.

After the Young Master and company were focused on learning to swim, I snuck Iruka away with an illusion or two.

“ _I had him._ ” My little brother sulked, resting his bulk in my lap, which, given our size difference, required a Flame Construct to sustain.

“I know you did.” I scratched the rough patches on his head and back, dead tissue already sloughing off to reveal smooth, healthy skin beneath—benefits of being a Sun, “But being defeated by a dolphin would have been horrible to the Young Master’s self-confidence, while I am certain that you won’t think lesser of yourself simply for sparing him that.”

“I won’t.” Iruka promised brightly, doing a loop in the air, “But what am I supposed to do while you’re doing your stuff when I can’t even enjoy any memories of blood and violence and suffering?”

I hummed, “I imagine Hibari will be quite entertaining. Besides, it is not as if it is peace and joy which shall follow in my wake.”

“Who are you torturing?” The dolphin focused on me with eager intensity, practically vibrating with the anticipation of seeing people in pain. Did I ever say that he was sweet and lovely? I meant for a dolphin. They’re all sociopaths.

“Be not so eager, little brother—Mochida Kensuke, residing—” I squinted at the file, wonderful, Mukuro’s bird had left droppings over half of the address, “—somewhere around here.”

Now, the sensible thing to do would be to go back and ask Hibari for access to the Namimori student records, but I knew a Ring-created opportunity when I saw one.

Eyeballing the distance to the ground, I dropped to the ground, rolling once to lose momentum. “Alright,” I said, once I had dusted myself off, “This one shall wander around and endeavor to find this particular personage once thou art returned to the Hibari estate—there is much to terrorize there, that there is.”

“Fine.” Iruka agreed, upside down, “I want a treat though.”

“Of course.” What could I get Iruka that would be special enough to be a treat? Kaku might be a good choice, or raiding the Mochida family fridge. I was a criminal, petty theft wasn’t beneath me. “Would pork belly interest thee?”

“Yep! But I want _lots_ of it.”

“We shall see.” Bickering cheerfully, we set off down the street, a flicker of Mist Flames disguising the dolphin as a balloon.

* * *

I was not ashamed to admit that I was well and truly lost.

Having followed my 666-given impulses to take lefts and rights as the whims struck me, the countdown in my head ticked downwards to _171_ , where it stopped, then dropped down to _170_ as a harried biker sped past, the glancing impact knocking me onto the hard concrete sidewalk.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Why did I leave Iruka in the Hibari Estate? His Sun Flames would be very helpful right now.

I looked up.

My fall had accomplished its purpose. Even without the incessant press of the 666, I could feel—or rather not feel. It was absence, of the same sort that I possessed which caused eyes to slide over me, but more ordered, more regimented, something imposed upon the world and not naturally developed, but still smooth and perfectly harmonious through the polish of time. The strangest thing was, it _wasn_ _’t_ wrong. There was no underlying affront to the natural order, nothing that suggested it didn’t belong, not like Daemon, or Mukuro, or even myself, transgressions against the laws of nature that we were. Instead, this was perhaps the roundest peg to ever fit in a round hole, seamless in its join. Were it not for the Discord in my soul, setting me at odds with the world, I would not have even noticed it.

There was a sign on the shop, a conservatively styled place, not quite excessively traditional, but still enough to spark a hint of nostalgia, stating that it was Kawahira Realtor in plain writing—a surprise to that part of me which expected it to be in some older tongue, perhaps the one in which a beast for the first time said _I am_.

Two lifetimes’ worth of training had kept my body running on autopilot, appearing by all metrics to be stunned from the collision, but I had to get up soon, or my ruse would be seen through. It was easy to exaggerate my limp and struggle the few steps to the door. Hesitantly, I knocked. “Excuse me?”

The door was opened by a stooped old woman, her wrinkled face immediately shifting into an expression of concern. “You poor boy!” She gasped, stepping aside and ushering me in, “What happened to you? Come, come sit down, do you need an ambulance?”

“Thank you, obaa-san.” I ducked my head, trying for a shallow bow, “It was a bike, but just a brush, nothing serious. You need not trouble yourself. This one would beg but a cup of water.”

The old woman examined me closely, taking in the scrapes on my hands, the dirt on my side, the way I moved gingerly to compensate for the bruises forming under my clothes. “Rest.” She ordered briskly, “I’ll get you that water.”

I looked around as she went to fill a paper cup from the water cooler in the corner. The inside of the shop was like the outside, slightly old-fashioned but not enough to raise any eyebrows, with aged furniture and a few porcelain trinkets that were like as not antiques. Nothing incriminating, but I had not expected any different from Checker—that tapestry—it was a distorted version of the Giglio Nero seal, what my and Mammon’s research indicated to be alluding to the last Five who bore the Six Hell Rings, they who preceded the Seven—it was as good as confirmation, but had it been left out on accident or on purpose?

Even more troubling was the smell of ramen, but that was mostly due to my perfectly reasonable fear of individuals who consumed unhealthy amounts of that stuff.

“Kawahira is not around at the moment, or I’d have him bring you home.” The old woman interrupted my thoughts, handing me the paper cup, which I accepted with a murmur of thanks. “Should I call a cab?”

I shook my head, “No, thank you, obaa-san, it is not far to where I am staying.”

I sipped at the water and let her fuss over me, making agreeable noises as she let loose a furious tirade against bikes, cars, and people who didn’t watch where they were going. “You’d think that they think they’re the only people in the world, from how they go—oh, sorry dear, I never stop once I get going, am I boring you?”

“Not at all, obaa-san.” I answered politely, “You are a wonderful conversationalist.”

“Sweettalker.” She tut-tutted fondly, looking at the clock, “Oh! I’ve kept you for too long, your parents will be wondering where you are!”

I turned to check, then got up to bow again. “It seems so. Thank you for your help, obaa-san, I shall not take advantage of your hospitality any longer.”

“Oh, it was no trouble.” She fussed, checking me over once again before letting me go, “Stay safe, young man!”

I promised I would, then thanked her once again for her kindness, and acknowledged her invitation to visit again. I would take it soon, possibly in the company of one of the Vindice, but certainly to see if I could meet her mysterious companion.

Gender aside, given that Checkerface was a Mist, I was still certain that she was not my target. Affiliated with him, without a doubt—Kawahira was a name that definitely bore watching, and my instincts said that he was the one I sought—but if I was at all trained then she was not him. And now that I had visited, he would most likely be on guard, maybe even watching me.

Ha. I wished him luck in that. Nothing I was doing was even remotely interesting, not like Bel and his hunt for the Esule—we had finally gotten a name for the upstart Famiglia that had sent us here in the first place.

Obaa-san had been right about the time though, it was nearing sunset, so I would need to hurry if I wanted to begin Mochida Kensuke’s training.

* * *

After a quarter of an hour’s grid search disguised as aimless wandering, I had found my target. He was eating dinner downstairs with his family, which left the window to his room clear as an excellent point of ingress.

One minor illusion to hide my form, just to be safe, and then a flicker of power to get me up to the sill. Pause, check that there was nothing to be displaced once I had slid the window open—civilians and their lack of alarms made me nervous, I kept expecting to trip over an unnoticed trap—open the window and slip inside.

If I intended to remain unnoticed, I’d close the window and reposition the blinds. But this was a test. Instead, I conducted a sloppy search of the room, deliberately displacing papers, moving chairs, and switching the places of the pillows.

He had recently begun folding his own laundry, if the sloppiness and disorganization of his wardrobe was any indication. He read manga, but few line-by-line books, but possessed a pair of dogeared kendo manuals and a much beloved collection of Kenso magazines. There were also a few kendo championship certificates on his wall, which I left lopsided.

My, the boy was really obsessed with kendo, wasn’t he? I considered the effort it would take to drill Bushido so deeply into his head that he would follow my Young Master into death, or even kill himself on command.

Too much, and besides, that was something Mukuro would do.

At least there wasn’t any…well, let’s put it like this, anything that his parents wouldn’t want to know about. A self-help book on girls was on the shelf as well, which matched the background of his challenge of the Young Master.

Seeing as that was it, I climbed on top of his closet.

Just in time for him to enter, turning on the bedroom light. A cool breeze blew through the window, setting the curtains swaying.

He frowned, slightly confused, but not on guard. Something to fix.

Although he wasn’t trained enough to identify just what was wrong, he was subconsciously on edge from my changes to his room. It showed in how he flicked through his books, doodled, scribbled, couldn’t focus. He got distracted by the new issue of Kenso. Tried to get back to work.

Outside, the stars came out.

Inside, the temperature dropped as I let the barest sliver of Rain Flames leak into the air, just enough to give the civilian boy goosebumps, then dropped further as more tranquilizing power seeped into our surroundings, drip by drip, drop by drop. Until…

Thud.

Mochida Kensuke’s head dropped onto his desk, his pen rolling away. Another breath, and the lights in the room guttered out. Rain had saturated every surface of this room. No one would hear us now.

I extracted myself from the between wardrobe and ceiling—thank the thoroughness of the Mochida house’s dusting—and laid him out on the ground, arranging him exactly as he had fallen to my Young Master before soaking enough cold blue Flame into him to sap the strength from his limbs

The stage set, I leaned over his head.

A flicker. A hitch in his breath. The teenager was waking.

The taste of apples on my tongue, I asked, “Seekst thou strength, Mochida Kensuke?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it blasphemous to impersonate the Serpent? How does Bel factor into the plot at this point? What is Kawahira planning? And just how far should an expert in mental fuckery go when dealing with a civilian teenager, even when that teenager is a bully, especially when it's rather hard to maintain the moral high ground when you're press-ganging him into the Mafia?
> 
> Tell me in a comment! (Or simply yell at me about what you liked/hated/are confused about.)


	4. Chapter 4

He screamed and tried to struggle, but incapacitated as he was, a light touch to his chest was sufficient to immobilize him while he called futilely for help.

“No one will hear thee.” I said, once he had emptied his lungs, then waited patiently as he tested the statement to his heart’s content before continuing, “O sightless worm, saw thou not the signs? An open window, a ransacked room, this cold wind, and yet thou wert not wary. And now thou seek to try and draw thy family into thy folly, to bear the burden of thy failure. Art thou not ashamed? What dost thou think would come to pass, should thy parents rush to thy aid? Would they break themselves, attempting to save thee, with thou looking on, helpless?”

He froze beneath my hands, “No! Don’t you dare—who the fuck are you—let me go!”

He teetered on the brink of Activation, Storm and Lightning surging beneath his skin in response to the threat I posed, needing but a final nudge to flare up in an inferno—which was why I had been ordered to do this: because fire was catching, Sky Flames even more so, and the spark that had nestled itself in Mochida Kensuke’s soul had been thrown from one of the greatest Skies of this generation or any other, and this Electric Storm would use that power in his service or die before it was turned against him.

“Reckless as always, Mochida Kensuke.” I said, in the knowledge that illuminated only by slanting moonlight and flickering soulfire, I appeared more demon than child, “Thought thou thy actions were without consequence? Redress comes, swift and sure. In thy hubris thou thought to win a girl as one would a prize, and for this conceit wert thou broken at the feet of he who thou thought to humiliate. Only the weak seek to challenge the weak, pretending at greatness through easy victories, cowering from their fragility behind countless trophies, until they find themselves unable hide from the truth of their baseness: unable to achieve, unable to protect. This one asks thee once more, _dost thou wish to become strong_?”

It was not with words that he answered, breath coming in harsh pants, but only my Flames saved me when he broke free in a conflagration of ruby and emerald. I took note of the area of effect and pronounced with satisfaction, “With thy love of thy family, thou art not without virtue.”

“What?” He rasped, stunned at the destruction about him, “What the fuck?”

I smiled ironically, “Hail, thou that art highly unfortunate, doom is with thee: woeful art thou among men. To seek to escape justice for bullying would be delinquency, but alas, what this one brings is without a doubt disproportionate retribution. That power burning through thee is called Flame, mark of the Mafia. Sawada Tsunayoshi, whom thou challenged, is the Heir to the greatest of the Families. By the laws of the underworld, in thy defeat, thy life hath become forfeit, and thenceforth thou must serve the Vongola.”

“Dame-Tsuna? What the—is this—he can’t _own_ me.”

“Nor does he wish to.” I told him gently, “But such is the way of the world in the shadows, the right of might, the rule of the strong over the weak,” a touch of viciousness, “which is the code thou chose to live by, is it not?”

His eyes were wide as panic became horror, and he stumbled back, falling onto the bed as I neared him.

But I simply flicked on the lamp, and with the shadows driven back by modern lighting, a nightmare dissipated, and a mere boy sat down opposite the terrified teenager to inquire, “Findest thou not that it is an unjust thing, now that thou art on the other side of it?”

Dumbly, Kensuke nodded.

“This one asks for an answer in words, Mochida Kensuke.” I prompted.

To his credit, he gathered himself quickly, “It is wrong,” He said hoarsely, “for the strong to rule over the weak, for might to make right.” Glancing at me, he risked, “To-to own people.”

“Then,” I pressed, “Is it wrong to revel in thy power, to hurt and humiliate for power’s sake? Is it also wrong to treat people as prizes to be won?”

“It is wrong.”

“And how does it apply to thee?”

His eyes darted to my face, and saw no malice there, yet also no sympathy. “It…I was wrong to treat Kyoko-ch— _san_ as a trophy, and to challenge D—Tsuna-san in kendo to make him make a fool of himself.”

I nodded, and reciprocated, “And it _is_ wrong of the cosa nostra to conscript thee into its ranks, Kensuke-san.”

“But not enough for you to stop.”

“No, not enough.” I agreed, “Thou dost burn too bright to hide. The only way out is through.”

“Through?”

I sent an apology the Young Master’s way for the overstep in speaking for him without his consent, then smiled, “Come now, Kensuke-san, thinkst thou so lowly of Sawada Tsunayoshi as to believe he would hold thee in bondage should he have the power to release thee?”

The boy narrowed his eyes at me, “Of course not, what do you think I am, stupid? But if he doesn’t want me around, why can’t he let me go?”

“Thou hast power.” What would tempt him? My hand closed around the hilt of a katana, drawing it out edged in red and backed in green, “How can it be without a price?”

It wasn’t enough to distract him completely, but he could not stop his eyes from flicking to the blade I held horizontally between us.

I continued quietly, “Why is it, Mochida Kensuke, that the government knows not of this power we hold? How has the Underworld kept this secret?”

He paled. “I’m going to die?”

“Or more likely retire after thy service, as certain neighbors of thine have, or perhaps find thy bonds dissolved when Sawada Tsunayoshi may speak and be heard.” I waved the very sharp carrot in my hand, “Thy future is far brighter than thou wouldst think, Kensuke-san, but only if thou art willing to take it.”

His gaze was once again drawn to the weapon I was offering him, but this time, when he dragged his eyes away, I met them, burning blue to red-ringed black. “Willst thou?”

Slowly, he raised a trembling hand to grip the sword.

Flame caught, rushing through my Creation, Hardening it and sharpening the edge with Disintegration as an illusion became steel in its owner’s hands. It would do until he earned a true weapon.

Kensuke tried out a few moves, going through the tail end of a kata (not quite smooth, what with the differences from a shinai) before moving the katana into a vertical guard, left hand coming up to tentatively touch the side of the blade, as if unable to believe his own senses. “What now?” He whispered.

“Now?” I raised an eyebrow, “Tis time for thee to rest. Thy training begins on the morrow.”

Then I leaned over and turned off the light, taking advantage of his adjusting eyes to disappear out the open window.

* * *

Time to head back. It wasn’t particularly late—well before any teenager’s bedtime, but the adrenaline crash would probably send Kensuke off to sleep quite soon, and I’d eat my boomerang if he remembered to do his homework before then, which meant that _I_ would have to wake up early to call him and tell him to do his homework and hide the sword.

Argh.

And…

“Thou art hardly subtle.” I said calmly.

“Awww.” M.M. smirked, sauntering out from the shadows, “You could be a bit sweeter on a gal like me.”

“Indeed.” I bowed, “This one’s apologies, lady, it was remiss of one. Thou hast suffered the dark and the bugs for quite some time, could this one interest thee in some refreshment at this one’s lodgings?”

“I wouldn’t—wait.” Her eyes narrowed, “What do you mean, ‘your lodgings’?”

Smart. “Hibari-dono offered to host this one.”

“Fuck!” She leapt back, “And I thought I just saw how terrifying you could be. Your baby face lets you get away with so much, you know.”

“In that, we are the same.” I winced sympathetically, “That bad?”

“You set a literal Terminator on us.” M.M. shuddered, “I’d say it was the best fight we’ve had in ages but he tore through us like tissue paper then came back for a second round. Why do you think I’m here in person instead of Mukuro possessing another bird?”

“This one would say that he is finally sick of the ‘birds work for the bourgeoisie’ joke.” I said dryly, “But he’s claiming that he’s far too exhausted for more strenuous work, this one presumes.”

“It’s called a meme, Basil.” M.M. rolled her eyes, “And yeah, he’s going full on Shakespeare.”

“Strange.” I frowned, “This one would have taken it for an opportunity to invoke _Sturm und Drang_.”

“Well, he’s being dramatic, so it’s probably one of those two. I’m an expert in fashion and fabrics, not classical literature, speaking of which, want to go shopping with me?”

“This one shall be financing thee, regardless of this one’s presence.” I pointed out, “As thou knowest. There is no need for thine invitation, should it simply be thrift that thou seekest.”

M.M. raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t it obvious, Basil? I want to dress you up.”

I sighed. “To bribe my Prince?”

“Since I can’t blackmail you? Duh. Besides, you can’t say that you don’t want to splurge—what’s the point of coming to Japan if you don’t buy loads of ludicrously expensive luxuries? I mean, even if you don’t want clothes, the lacquered desk sets here are beautiful, not to mention the teapots.”

I did miss yukata… and I needed a new pen after my old one got clogged from stabbing an assassin in the neck.

I caved, “Would Thursday please thee?”

M.M. grinned, “Sure. See you then.”

And as she sauntered off around a corner with a wave, she called out, “Also, have you taken your phone out of Airplane Mode yet?”

I checked.

Oops.

* * *

Still, I wasn’t too worried, given that Oregano had reprogrammed almost every feature of our devices so emergencies would override even that, which was probably unwise from a health and safety standpoint but convenient for my job, the skills of which I abused to split my attention between not walking into lampposts and tapping in my password.

I had two missed calls from an unknown number, spaced one hour apart. Other than that, Reborn had apparently already contacted Lal, since she had sent me files on swordsmiths in my vicinity. I opened it.

The information was genuine, but a handful of formatting choices indicated that this channel of communication was compromised. I added the seemingly random numbers in superscript in the file together and divided by twelve, arriving at 13. That meant M, for Massimo.

In an effort to reduce some of the damage permanent house arrest would do to his psyche, the CEDEF had collaborated with the Family technicians to create an encrypted platform on which operatives could upload snapshots of their lives and missions for Massimo to live vicariously through, which had with time evolved into a mission control hub with him making use of his Intuition while assisting us. I wouldn’t mind his help, but his insights usually took on a rather _unique_ form, and quite frankly, I had heard far too many James Bond jokes already.

But first, persuading Hibari to lend me an uncompromised device.

Prior experience suggested that I would need to bribe the Cloud with a fight, and just thinking about that was enough to make my bones ache. At least he would be somewhat tired from his fight with Mukuro?

Well yes, but emphasis on _somewhat_.

“It never rains but it pours.” I grumbled under my breath, then hurried onwards. No point dragging this out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too much? Too little? Clunky prose? Misused metaphors? Tell me!


	5. Chapter 5

I nursed bruises the next morning from tonfa blows, but had mercifully avoided any broken bones, and with Iruka’s help, they were already yellowing by breakfast, which had been had at the crack of dawn, after which Hibari left to terrorize—ah, “patrol” his territory.

I washed up efficiently, checked the time—a quarter to five. Time for a call.

“Moshi moshi?” Kensuke’s voice was groggy from sleep.

“Good morning, Kensuke-san.” I greeted warmly.

There came a clunk from the phone as he dropped his. A brief scrabble as he picked it up, “You’re real?”

“Is thy sword not proof enough, Kensuke-san?”

“Uh…yeah, if I’m not still dreaming because it’s way too early in the morning.”

I laughed, “This one assures thee, yesterday’s unfinished homework is no dream, and thou must hurry lest today becomes a nightmare.”

“Wha—fuck! My homework!”

“Peace. It is not yet five.” I said, “Thou hast yet time—twas why this one woke thee.”

“Really? I’d say thanks, but it’s your fault.”

“And just as much thine own.” I added, “It would behoove thee to hide thy weapon before another stumbles upon it.”

“And here I thought I could take it to school.” Kensuke snipped.

I chose to ignore the sarcasm, “That would be foolish to the extreme, Kensuke-san, and here is why. This one shall now introduce thee to the laws of Omerta.”

* * *

At precisely the stroke of five, I hung up and left Kensuke to his homework, but to my surprise, my phone rang again.

It was the same unknown number that had called twice yesterday, and I could see that I had even more missed calls through the night, when the phone had been automatically set to silent. Whoever this was, they were persistent.

I picked up, setting the phone to trace the call as I did so.

“You are difficult to reach, Basilicum.”

“Apologies.” I said politely, “’twas not this one’s intent, sir...?”

Which was only half true. I was exaggerating my technological ineptitude, but its effects on my mystery caller’s temper were to my advantage—besides, it was quite funny to imagine him fuming as his attempts to appear suave and in control were thwarted because I kept failing to pick up the phone.

On the other end of the line, I could hear him taking a deep breath before replying, “Wamawaru. All is forgiven, Basil, so long as you answer a question for me.”

I ran through potential kanji in my head, most combinations either pretentious or not actually read that way if one was doing so properly; the most obvious, 輪廻, for instance, should be read as Rinne. That meant that “Wamawaru-dono” was either a tasteless foreigner unfamiliar with the tongue or a tasteless (in another way) native speaker of Japanese. It was difficult to tell when we were speaking in Italian.

“This one listens diligently.”

“Very well then, Basil. Do please tell me, what would you say if I told you I hold Belphegor hostage?”

Ice shot up my spine, into my voice as I said, “This one would say that Prince the Ripper is at his most beautiful drenched in red.”

Was that a gritting of the teeth? “Impressive bravado for one who has nothing else.”

I wasn't lying, people who thought they had subdued Bel usually came to regret their presumption quite quickly, when the offense they gave was swiftly repaid tenfold. If he had managed to keep Bel captive for an appreciable length of time... strong drugs or _extremely_ potent Flames, or both.

“How so?” I inquired mildly.

“Have you wondered why your colleagues have not informed you of his capture?”

Really, while I appreciated being underestimated, this indignity was beyond words. It was a sting operation, _obviously_. “—but—”

He moved in for the kill, “He has a crescent shaped birthmark on the right side of his stomach.”

I made a small, shocked noise. The blurred boundaries between certain consonants suggested a Japanese accent, although I couldn’t identify the regionality like this, and the tracing program was still failing.

I added a tremble to my voice. “This one sees.”

“I do apologize for your distress, but I could not go to anyone else, I’m afraid. They would be too…inflexible.” His words slithered into my ear, growing oilier as his self-assuredness grew, “You see, it is not my intent to harm the Vongola, or accompanying organizations—I am simply a concerned father, seeking my lost son—but the CEDEF, the Famiglia, the Varia, they would not care, they would just stand between us, the same way they are standing against you, one of their _own_. I hope—no, I _trust_ that you will be more understanding.”

For divinities’ sakes, how ham-handed could this get? And speaking of his son…I turned my sudden dread into a noise of terrified agreement.

“Don’t worry, Basil.” Wamawaru-dono’s voice was warm, comforting—how incompetent did he have to be to start using Flame this early in negotiations? “It’s quite simple, really: you will bring me the one I love, and in return, I will return to you the one you love. Are we agreed?”

“Such agreements usually follow, one after the other, as one side is drawn ever deeper.” I retorted with forced restraint, “What assurance hath this one that thou wilt keep to it, and not retain thy leverage instead? Moreover, why would this one trust the purity of thine intentions, and not assume that thou seekest but power?”

“Is my word not enough?” Wamawaru-dono asked, sounding actually offended, “Basil, I am a _father_ , and all I want is to be reunited with my son, this I swear. I do not wish the Vongola harm, and letting anything permanent befall Belphegor would set the Varia on my trail, leaving me with not a minute’s peace for no good reason. Why do you think I want that?”

Wonderful, gaslighting, playing the victim, straight up lying. Had I harbored notions of genuine cooperation, they would have been squashed now. “This one apologizes.” I said instead, letting him lead the conversation where he wanted it to go.

“All is well.” He sighed, “I admit, I am partially at fault for our little disagreement—I should not have expected you to understand the ties of family from a simple conversation—but that is alright. How about this? We shall meet, face to face, and I shall give you proof of my sincerity—as well as my assurances that Belphegor has not been unduly harmed.”

Meet me face to face to exert greater control with his Flame, more like, or maybe an ambush to capture me as well. I could make a fuss about the “unduly”, but I was familiar enough with Bel to not expect otherwise.

“Thou art in Sicily?” I asked, not mentioning Japan in the off case that he had not tracked me here.

“Hardly, Basil. Let us meet in Tokyo. I shall send you the details once I have made a reservation—is that acceptable for you?”

“Yes.” I bit out with forced courtesy, “And yet a certain matter is not yet settled, sir Wamawaru—who exactly is thy son?”

“Why…” He chuckled, “I came to you for a reason, Basil child. He calls himself Rokudo Mukuro.”

Somehow, I wasn’t surprised, but I made an excellent show of numbly going through the pleasantries before letting him hang up first in deference to his age. That done, I cleaned up and finally made use of the Flame-compatible computer Hibari had provided.

* * *

_> >>Basil! Bel_'s _been captured, and they_ _’re all worried and Mammon_ ' _s snot-thing isn_ _’t working either. I have the feeling that we_ _’re not going to find him anywhere in Italy or the rest of Europe, though I have a weird feeling about England (is it still part of Europe or not? I_ _’m not sure what Brexit really means)._

_> >This one was made quite aware of that when Bel was used as a hostage against one._

_> >>What? OK, that_' _s bad, but not a surprise. The Esule have been threatening loved ones to compromise our people, and then they sort of form a chain to drag more people down, which is horrible, not to mention the fact that the Sky is a Hidden Sky which means that their minds are a mess as well, although the_ _…you know means that the Vongola has some experience with treating it_ _—Turmeric has his hands full. How_ _’s it on your end?_

Esule being aggressive was almost expected, but if Bel could find his way into the hands of—no, Massimo had not said that Bel had been captured by the Esule, this was an assumption. Carefully, I avoided asking a leading question.

_> >How did Bel find himself in this situation?_

The answer came quickly.

 _> >>He got captured on an assassination, easy mission gone wrong because of bad intel. It clued us on to the double agents but they were using weird mad science drugs which overpowered Bel. Good news is our scientists say that Bel_ _’s too strong to be permanently affected by them, so we don_ _’t have to worry about him getting compromised that way. Sorry, doesn_ _’t make it suck less for you guys, I know._

 _> >It is a cold comfort. However, this one was threatened by a _ _“Wamawaru_ _”, no mention of association with the Esule. It is possible that he is connected to them, and acquired Bel that way. His voice is middle-aged male, relatively refined register, clear diction with traces of a Japanese accent, but he speaks otherwise flawless Sicilian Italian. Flame Active, purports to be Mukuro_ _’s father. Claims that he will be in Tokyo within a few days._

_> >>Mukuro? And what did this Wamawaru guy want from you?_

_> >He declared himself a concerned father who only wanted to reunite with his son, and made certain insinuations. This one sends to thee now the recording of the call._

I waited while he opened the file and listened. What had happened was definitely linked, and I was beginning to figure out how. I just needed a second opinion.

 _> >>Basil. Esule means exile, or refugee. And this guy may be lying, but I_ _’m pretty sure that the Mist and Sky Flame combo means that he_ _’s the man behind the man that we_ _’re looking for, and if he wants Mukuro, then_ _… my gut says that he_ _’s Estraneo_ _—that the Esule are the Estraneo that weren_ _’t caught up in Operation Brimstone, possibly because they have a base or some influence in Japan._

_> >This one found it far likelier than the alternative too. What does the CEDEF say on this subject?_

_> >>We were pretty sure that they targeted Bel to get you, which was why they didn_ _’t tell you anything on the usual channels, though they_ _’re going to have to start using them again if they want to hide that we_ _’re onto the Esule, but we didn_ _’t think that we_ _’d uncover the final boss so quickly, and the Estraneo tie is new too._

My Ring was cold on my finger. I narrowed my eyes at the screen.

_> >Wherefore art thou certain that our Wamawaru is our ultimate adversary?_

_> >>!!!_

_> >>I didn_ _’t think about that! He_ _’s a Hidden Sky though, and they are pretty much always the puppetmasters, so he should be in control, right? Plus everything_ _’s just been coming one after another right now, and it_ _’d be ridiculous if the plot thickens even more and a bigger bad pops up and turns out to be behind everything._

_> >Indeed._

My fingers hovered over the keys.

 _> >The nature of this sequence of events does warrant further pondering. Thank you, Massimo, this one has been given much to consider whilst this one continues investigating Wamawaru. Please convey this one_ _’s well-wishes to this one_ _’s comrades._

 _> >>You_ _’re going now? Alright, bye and good luck, and ask for help if you need/want it! Talk to you tomorrow?_

_> >Of course. Please assume that should this one be absent, that this one has been incapacitated and would most likely need rescue._

_> >>Okay, I_ _’ll do that._

Shutting the laptop, I let myself rub my eyes in exhaustion. Kawahira was proving elusive, and the very forces we had come to Japan to avoid had followed us here, while Bel himself had been taken and we were dealing with a mess back in Italy, not knowing how many secrets our enemies now knew, only that they were too many.

I was beginning to see once more the hand of fate attempting to guide us onto a set path—but strangely enough, I was beginning to disbelieve in the idea of inexplicable, insurmountable inevitability. Instead… artifice and design. Großvater had spoken of Doom, but it was I who heard it and thought it was the weave of the Moirai. He would not lie, but…truth was another thing.

_Who will benefit?_

I tucked that thought away for now. My enemies were Mists, and Mists thrived on uncertainty, which was in turn combated first by trust.

I had chocolate and snacks to buy.


	6. Chapter 6

“The best chocolates in Namimori, junk food, and fresh mandarins.” I set the bags down on the low coffee table in the living room, then nodded at Chikusa, “This one understands that thou hast expended great parts of thy supply of senbon—this one has procured replacements.”

“Thanks!” Ken jumped to his feet and began rooting through my peace offerings, “Ooh, jello—nice, that Hibari guy knocked out my channels a couples of times and I can’t chew anything too hard right now—hey, Kakipi, Basil’s even got you some chicken nuggets so you can’t complain about snacks being a hassle to open—catch!”

“Thank you, Ken.” Chikusa said placidly, cutting through the tape holding the carton shut, “Next time, please ensure that the contents of the box will not fall out mid-flight before you throw it. And Basil, I have no need for your assistance, as most of my senbon are undamaged, and Ken will be helping me gather them up again.”

“What? Says who?”

“You, of course. You said that you owed me one on the plane, and I am calling it in.”

Ken spluttered, but Chikusa simply raised an eyebrow and continued, “Unless you would like me to tell M.M. that you needed me to muffle her voice?”

“Fine!” Ken huffed, “But I’m not carrying her bags when she goes shopping, byon!”

“I believe that Basil shall.” Chikusa tilted his head, wordlessly asking for confirmation.

“Should circumstances permit.” I said pleasantly, “This one seeks Mukuro—and M.M. is out, this one takes it?”

“She’s off stalking Bianchi.” Ken told me through mouthful of crumbs, “You’d think that she’d get over it after a few months, but nope—” The boy affected a high-pitched voice, “Look at how she killed her ex-boyfriend with Poison Cooking: Special Cake! Why didn’t she use that technique on me? Does she think I’m not worth the effort? I’m going to prove her wrong and show that I’m just as strong as her! Do you think she’d take me more seriously in this dress or this skirt? —I’m going to lock the two in a closet if she keeps going on like this—and Mukuro’s on the balcony, by the way, byon.”

I smiled at him. “This one’s thanks.”

* * *

Mukuro was lying on a sofa in the sunlight, feeding a crow the remains of a crumpet. At my approach, he propped himself up by an elbow and shooed the bird away.

“Ach! The evil spirit returns!” My fellow Mist called out in lazy greeting, “Thou foul cur, cast thine eyes upon thy horrific handiwork. I have been struck by many dreadful blows, and they have wrought countless most grievous injuries—is there any shred of repentance in your cold, cold heart, you demon from the darkest depths of hell?”

Despite myself, I grinned, “Salutations, thou unnatural creature. This one sees no wound upon thy flesh, and yet trusts thee too much to take thy words for a lie—clearly, thou art full healed. Besides, surely ‘twas not beyond thy ability to turn Hibari away, should it have been thy desire.”

“Fair enough.” Mukuro conceded, “I was near dead from ennui before the fight brought some joy to an otherwise dreary day, but I would have thought you much too occupied by your impossible quest to condescend to spend time with us fainéant idlers. Why have you come, busy Basilicum?”

“For a reason this one hopes would be agreeable to ye all.” I bowed ironically, “Since this one presumes, upon hearing thy words, that ye would appreciate an end to your tedium?”

Mukuro swept a gracious arm at me. “By all means, Basil, speak.”

I inclined my head, “An enemy has come to this one’s gate, taken this one’s Prince and demanded this one turn against ye all.”

Speaking the words made my predicament appear all the more real. I needed calm, so my Flames turned inwards, feeding on my fury; my human heart had driven me to inhuman dispassion. Dying Will removed external limits, passing beyond that into Hyper Dying Will Mode took away the internal. Whatever reservations I should feel were distant and colorless things.

“In the interests of preventing a repeat of our previous conflict—” I dropped to eye level with Mukuro in his repose, finding the bond of contract between us and tearing down every labyrinth and shield that had been set in my mind to subdue it, “—Come and see.”

Cold fire burnt behind my eyes; nightmares coiled at my fingertips. He was my ally. There was nothing I cared to hide. I stared into my fellow Mist’s eyes and bared my soul.

* * *

“Well, you have certainly brought us out of the doldrums.” Mukuro leaned over to pour himself another cup of iced tea (offering none to me, selfish knave).

“Evidently.” I snipped, leaning against Mukuro’s couch and holding a cold hand over my forehead to help with the migraine, “Wilt thou aid one?”

“Without a doubt.” Tap, tap, went his fingers on the surface of the glass, the details of his thoughts obscured from me, but their movement clear through the contract in our minds, “Unlike with you, I bear no grudge against the Varia’s Storm Officer—and Ken would be displeased, should I leave him to his fate.”

That was as good as a confession of attachment from him. Mukuro was a different breed of Mist than I. Where I displayed my care for my loved ones in blatant challenge, he hid them for fear of exactly what was happening. But we had enemies enough even without the ties between us all, and so I found such a pretense to not be worth the little protection it would offer. “This one’s thanks.” I said, letting him see that my relief was true.

“Do not be so satisfied, Basil.” Mukuro said, something weighty and portentous in his tone, “We do not act simply for your sakes, but our own as well. This enemy we face, they are our legacy, or perhaps we are theirs, and I intend to see the face of this criminal of criminals who calls himself my father and demand a reckoning.”

 _162_ my Hell Ring augured, a will not my own threading into my breath, “Vengeance? Justice? Which will it be?”

“Is there a difference here?” Mukuro mused, “I do not think it will be clear to me until I stand above him, poised for the final blow, and perhaps not even then. However, we must reach that point before answering your question, and so, let us strategize.”

“What is there to plan?” I asked, letting my head loll back, staring at the blue sky, “We know nothing of Wamawaru, and so have no choice but to play along until such time as we can turn the tables. A meeting benefits us far more than it does him at first glance, therefore, it is most likely a trap that we must spring, although we could give him a taste of his own medicine and kidnap him.”

Mukuro snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “He probably has contingencies for that, and I am not confident in my abilities to counter them, especially since you are still spectacularly abysmal at entering other’s minds, not to mention our lack of a secure base to hold him, or Bel in the case of rescue—unless…”

I waited, watching him out of the corner of my eye, but he simply shook his head, “Nothing to worry about.”

I counted off our resources with my free hand, “Our forces number five, with the potential for additional allies in the form of Bianchi, Reborn-san, and Hibari-dono, but no reinforcements from the Vongola, since they are quite tied up with the Esule. Money is no object, but access to heavy weaponry will be limited, but I believe we should not need it.”

Tap, tap, went his fingers on the glass. “You missed one.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, one at least, perhaps two. The Ranking Prince would be amenable to cooperation, correct? And I believe certain petty criminal factions can be terrified into being cannon fodder.”

The Momokyokai had been terrorized enough by the Vongola since Sir’s time, and were now but a pale shadow of their former selves, but still usable enough, for low-level thugs. They had survived Hibari’s violent takeover of Namimori’s criminals without being forcefully reformed into auxiliaries of the Disciplinary Committee, after all. Futa, on the other hand, while significantly more helpful, was also far more complicated.

“Futa de la Stella is under the Lady’s protection.” The CEDEF had been well aware of the accuracy of his rankings, so we were absolutely certain that he would only come to us if we were sincere in our offer of non-exploitive shelter, which was why we had disappeared the boy and sent him to safety here—safety enforced by Sir’s wife, who I would not challenge.

Mukuro, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Clapping his hands, he decided, “Excellent. Let’s visit her!”

“Now?”

“Of course, my dear Basil—it’s almost time for lunch, and I dearly wish to try Sawada-san’s cooking—besides, I wish to meet the woman who raised Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

Sawada Nana had poisoned me on our first meeting in order to protect her son and had only become more dangerous with time and no Sealed Sky scraping at her senses. Truth be told, I was rather terrified of facing her after failing to allow the Young Master a civilian life, but needs must, I supposed.

“As to Ken and Chikusa?” I inquired.

“Coming with us, of course.”

Mukuro set down his glass and rolled onto his feet, offering me a hand as he did so.

“Ken! Chikusa!” He called, vicious hunter’s smile on his face, “Turns out that someone’s calling himself my dear old dad. He’s probably Estraneo, so I’m going to kill him. Do you want to help?”

Ken’s agreement was enthusiastic, and Chikusa’s, while less bombastic, was no less so.

“This one shall elaborate on the way.” I added softly, stepping into the comfort of a supporting role, “We will be visiting the Young Master’s mother first.”

* * *

My Lady invited us in with easy warmth, seating us about the dining table and gesturing me back down when I tried to get up and help her, then charming my companions through snacks and drinks and heartfelt compliments.

Mukuro was _fascinated_ , putting on his best manners while Nana drew the full story from him almost without him realizing.

—I started.

 _No!_ I sent to Mukuro, but he just projected a sense of smug satisfaction.

“That’s terrible!” Nana exclaimed, “Of course you can hide here if you need to, this house will always have room for a few more!”

“—But,” She narrowed her eyes, the absolute hardness of Lightning sparking in their warm brown depths, “You will not ask Futa-kun to help you. He is only just learning to be valued for who he is and not what he can do, and you will not make him doubt his place here simply to make your mission easy. Do you understand?”

Shock. Not mine.

“Absolutely, Nana-san.” Mukuro nodded, eyes just slightly too wide, “Your children are fortunate to have you as a mother.”

“Good, Mukuro-kun.” The pressure of Flame disappeared in an instant, Nana’s smile returning, supportive and bright, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you will do very well even without Futa-kun! There’s no use worrying right now, so let’s have lunch, and maybe you can help me with my postcard!”

“Oh?”

“Sir sends Sawada-sama coded messages on postcards.” I explained, “Most of them utilize convoluted metaphors and some of them are purely gibberish thrown in to muddle the waters.”

“Uh-huh!” Nana fanned out the glossy sheets one after the other, “See? This one is about my husband directing penguins at the north pole—the penguins mean Mafia men, because they’re wearing tuxedos, see? It’s the north pole, for Northern Italy. There’s a polar bear attack and he got frozen in an iceberg, which means that my love was fighting against another Family, and he was badly hurt, but Bajiru-kun kept him alive with his powers. And this one is about kangaroos, who box! Which means that it’s actually about martial artists! But I can’t make heads nor tails about the one Dino brought me last month. It’s about him teaching robins to find earthworms and goats, see?”

“Let me see!” Ken leaned over, “Say, Basil, does your boss get his stickers ordered special or do you have a machine that prints them in-house?”

“We can talk about everything after we eat and I wash up.” Nana promised, gathering the cards up again and tucking them away, “Do you prefer chopsticks or cutlery?”

* * *

After lunch, Mukuro and his coterie were gently nudged into staying by my Lady with a mention that Bianchi would soon be back from her outing, but seeing as it was soon to be time for school to end, I made my excuses and went to prepare for Kensuke’s training.

A basic Flame externalization exercise would do nicely, since he would probably be subconsciously utilizing his newly awakened power to strengthen muscle and bone already.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is welcomed. If you find that the quality of my writing has lowered, or if if it's simply bad at some points, please tell me! I seek to improve!


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